Wilted
by ignisvolat
Summary: When the flowers you gave me died...


They'd been an apology. A really lame one, at that.

She didn't know why she hadn't the heart to throw the little red flowers out. They were tiny. Short. Considerably frail looking. Of course they'd be the ones he'd pick. He probably felt sorry for them, standing out in the field among so many other prettier flowers, or ones with stronger stems. These were practically twigs, and their petals were thin. She'd counted three of the fragile little flowers when he'd presented them to her that afternoon, just as his squad arrived in Sina for a final meeting with Dawk. He muttered something about there having been more. She assumed they fell apart during the ride in, and she scoffed.

She hadn't thrown them away. She could have, right there in his face. But something kept her fingers closed around the tiny stems, even after he'd disappeared with the rest of his green cloaked idiots.

He'd done something similar shortly after they'd met. Her first year of training, his last. They'd been assigned to groups during one training session, and his inability to pay attention to anyone aside from his goddamn sister nearly got her a broken arm. She'd snarled at him, called him a moron ( and a few other choice names in her head ). Later that evening, she'd found a pathetic looking wildflower lying across her usual spot in the mess hall. Shulz wasn't one for verbal apologies, it seemed.

She hadn't accepted it. The crushed wildflower took a flying leap out the nearest window. She hoped he'd seen it.

Nearly three years later, now, things were different. She couldn't bring herself to be so cruel anymore. Not after he came back from one expedition alone. Not after so many exchanges, questions and moments of vague honesty between each other. Now, even if she hated to admit it, she liked the way their petals seemed to catch fire and glow in the morning sunlight. She'd scowl when Hitch caught her staring at them for too long. She didn't know how long those frail little flowers would last in the jar she stored them in. But after only a few days, it became clear.

One evening, nearly five days later, she returned to her quarters to find them grayed and browned. The tiny flowers were downcast. Their leaves and petals shriveled, some fallen to the nightstand or into the water below. At first, she didn't understand. She'd kept them watered. The once pathetic looking flowers looked even more pathetic now. All she could do was stand there and stare at them, jacket half-way off and expression just short of neutral.

Hitch comes up behind her just minutes later. She hears a small murmur and feels the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Annie frowns, turns her head to glance at her roommate. Hitch shook her head.

"Shame," she said, giving Annie's shoulder two small pats. "They were actually kind'a cute. Y'know. In a pitiful, feel-sorry-for-me sort'a way."

"Tch," Annie scoffed. She turned her head and looked back to the flowers, shrugging the rest of the way out of her jacket and out from under Hitch's hand. The dirty blonde frowned, planting her palms instead on her hips.

"Don't pretend like you don't care. If you didn't, you wouldn't have kept them around for this long."

Annie rolled her eyes, tossed her jacket across her bed and sat down on the edge. She began to undo the straps of her gear, keeping her head low so her fringe veiled her eyes, and she cast the flowers a sideways glance. Once the straps were off her feet and legs, she sat up and turned her attention to Hitch, who still squinted at her. Silence hung between them. It was Hitch, as it often was, who broke it.

She let out a frustrated ' _ugh!_ ' and dropped her arms, letting her head tilt back and lull to one side. "Whatever, Miss Grouch, enjoy your stupid, pitiful flowers." She turned away, flicking her hand over her shoulder.

Annie watches her as she moves to the small closet. A huff slips from her lips, and she turns her head just enough to look at the anemones sitting on the nightstand. Another sickly brown petal drops to the wooden surface. She gave her head a slight shake, turned her gaze to the window.

It's still early out. But tomorrow was going to be a long day, and she'd need her rest if she were to perform well. So she dropped the last of her gear on the floor and rolled into the bed.

She waits until Hitch isn't looking to reach out and pluck a petal from one of the dying flowers.


End file.
